Mave’s returning “Hey” was pretty nonchalant. He might have paid more attention to that in past months, paired with some convenient overthinking and the conclusion that his fellow Cetus had absolutely changed his mind about the invitation and he should leave while he had the chance, but recent events had, in what was surely the only instance of the word, fortunately changed that impulse. Instead, Russell just sort of nodded back. As Maverick continued talking, his fingers traded the shirt hem for Bermuda shorts, folding half-into the pockets.

This move turned out to be convenient (now used in a less sarcastic tone than the overthinking thing) because it turned out to be an art unveiling, and what was one supposed to do with their hands during something like this? Maverick seemed to be moving in slow-motion, thanks to the theatrics of his sheet-waving. He had never been sole witness, or any type of witness, to an art unveiling. The Californian had no idea whether he should applaud or move to help or keep standing and watching, so having his hands already half-in his pockets answered the dilemma for him. Except, wait. The shark was familiar.

With a start, he realized that he had seen it before. Numerous times, in fact, standing on the corner of his bookshelf at home. Shortly after acquiring Jaws, a well-intentioned but clueless uncle had gifted him an old movie featuring what he thought was the mouse’s namesake. Russell had never watched it, of course, because movies were among the top twenty Worst Experiences for people with photophobia, but after he had recovered from the childish disappointment at receiving a gift he couldn’t use, he had opted for leaning it up on the shelf. The DVD case had an impressive cover, and it had amused him to think that an apparently-famous film killer could share a name with his tiny, gentle --

Suddenly realizing that too much time had passed without speaking, Russell tried to swallow past the dryness in his throat. “You made it… for… me?” he echoed. The words came out slower than intended, and there was a prickling pain in the corners of his eyes, not entirely dissimilar to when a light was unexpectedly turned on in a dark room. He pulled a hand free in order to swipe at his eye - but it seemed like just as one was cleared, the other welled up and over, running down his cheek. “Sorry, sorry.” A bit embarrassed, Russell wiped off his cheek with the other hand, but the pattern continued so all he could do was close his eyes and push up his sunglasses a bit and wedge both hands underneath in an attempt to stop the tears. Everything had been so hard, but it shouldn’t be cry-at-a-shark levels of hard, right? Even, even if that shark was a statue someone had made for him because they recognized how hard it was and… Right?

These pauses were killing him. Mave recognized that he had taken strange and long pauses in in introducing the statue, but this break before Russell said anything felt like forever. It felt so long... more

Regardless of whether or not he should be crying at a shark, he was . That was embarrassing, but embarrassment wasn’t on his priorities list of emotions right now, so despite the tears coming faster... more